Thomas Greanias - The Promised War

"It's your ignorance that compromises the IDF," Elezar said. "How do I know that you're not the Black Dove?"

Deker bristled. The Black Dove was the code name for a suspected Hamas mole deep within the IDF. Until Rachel's death, Deker had always wondered if the IDF made up the Black Dove to justify all kinds of military operations against Hamas as well as periodic purges of undesirable officers within its ranks. But the Black Dove clearly knew enough about the IDF's plans to switch the bowl that Deker had crafted to assassinate him and senior Hamas officials. Later Deker suspected that Husseini, the Waqf official at the Temple Mount, might be the Black Dove, as he was someone whose position gave him access to both Israeli IDF and Jordanian GID personnel. That's what prompted him to conduct tonight's test of the Temple Mount. It was also why he almost killed Husseini when the bastard brought up Rachel's death and showed him a similar ceremonial washbowl like the one that killed her. In hindsight, perhaps he should have.

"So because I'm not a self-righteous ass like you, I'm a mythical Palestinian mole inside the IDF?" Deker asked, to expose the absurdity of Elezar's logic.

But Elezar was unrepentant. "You might as well be the Black Dove if they broke you."

"The only thing broken is your recording of these accusations that you insist on playing over and over," Deker replied. "You're not helping the situation."

Elezar was quiet for the next few minutes, except to occasionally curse his Jew-hating phone and blather in the darkness about the history of "God's people"-meaning himself.

Deker concentrated the best he could on the road as the highway expanded to two lanes both ways. He pressed the accelerator through the floor.

"Forget the phone: Get the guns," Deker said. "We're not stopping until this car skids to a halt on the other side of the Jordan like a block of Swiss cheese shot full of holes."

Deker peered through the windshield as they approached the bend in the highway, trying to sense how close they were. The Jordan River flowed down from the melting snow atop Mount Hermon in Lebanon to the Dead Sea. It was easy enough to pick out from satellite overheads, because it coursed two hundred kilometers through a tectonic fault zone known as the Great Rift Valley with its two plates on either side. But right here, right now, he couldn't see the river.

Deker scanned the night horizon for the first sign of the Allenby Border Terminal. Known as the King Hussein Bridge to Jordanians, the Allenby was the biggest of three bridges over the Jordan River connecting the country of Jordan to the Palestinian territories of the Israeli-controlled West Bank.

He began flashing distress signals in code with the headlights, but it was too late. Dead ahead was a line of Jordanian military trucks and police patrol cars blocking the road to the bridge.

"Roadblock!" Elezar shouted, leaning out the passenger-side window and firing bullets until he emptied his magazine.

No fire was returned. It wasn't necessary. Through his windshield Deker could see a thick nail strip across the freeway coming up fast, ready to blow their tires and stop them cold before they ever reached the roadblock.

Deker swung the wheel, scraping the nearside fender against the metal rail so that sparks flew. There was a thud, and then they were off the road, driving over the pocked and bumpy rock of the desert and covered in a cloud of sand and dust. The car skidded across the soil as Deker hit the accelerator, the tires chewing rocks and spitting them up against both sides of the car with loud pings.

"Ditch the car!" Elezar commanded.

The banks of the Jordan were coming up fast, even if Deker couldn't see them. As soon as he sensed the downward slope, he turned to Elezar and yelled, "Jump!"

Deker grabbed his combat bag from the backseat with one hand, kicked opened his door and dove out, hitting the rocky soil hard and tumbling several times as trained to lessen the impact. He was cut up everywhere, to be sure, and maybe even broke something. But now was the time to move, before the surge of adrenaline from the shock wore off.

"We go for the old footbridge," Deker said as he made his way across the moonscape, aware of Elezar stumbling alongside him, breathing heavily. Elezar didn't seem injured, but no matter how excellent his physical condition, the two additional decades he had on Deker weren't helping him here, and Deker easily beat him down the banks to the water.

But he couldn't find the footbridge. He looked up and down the winding waterway and couldn't find any bridge in the distance, including the Allenby.

"The bastards have blown the bridge!" Elezar raged. "They've started the attack! This is all your doing, Deker! If we survive this, I'll have you executed for treason!"

"Then at least I'll be executed by Jews," Deker said, unmoved. "We have to swim for it."

Deker lifted his pack onto his shoulder and descended the banks to the river until he felt the cold water around his ankles. Agriculture over the decades had drained the Jordan of whatever depth and current it might have possessed in ancient days. He couldn't see the other side in the dark. But the distance was probably less than seven meters across, and the depth in some places less than one.

"Elezar-"

But there was no reply. He glanced over his shoulder at Elezar, crumpled on the ground. He looked up the embankment at five black figures cut out against the stars. He turned to dive into the water when he felt a searing stab in his back.

He reached behind, yanked an object out and brought it before his eyes. It was a spear. He stared in confusion and dismay at the large, leaf-shaped spearhead, like something from the Bronze Age exhibit at the Israel Museum in Jerusalem.

He saw the black stain on the tip in the moonlight and realized he was losing blood fast. His eyes began to blur as he watched the spearhead fall in slow motion from his hands. Then he felt himself lurch forward and tumble into the cold, dark waters of the Jordan.

Seated inside the airy temple in Los Angeles for his bar mitzvah, his family and friends smiled through tears as the rabbi reached into the open Ark and handed him the Torah scroll containing the Five Books of Moses.

It was one of the older Torahs, weighing almost fifty pounds, and he struggled to carry it in his slender, trembling hands. It felt like a boulder. He was thirteen and considered a man now according to Jewish tradition. But he was still a year away from his growth spurt, and his tired arms weren't strong enough to carry it.

As he tried to balance the Torah, it began to tip. There were gasps from the adults and a snicker or two from the children. Oh, no! The Holy Law! He tried to right it but overcompensated. I can't hold it! It's slipping!Like a dream he watched it fall from his hands, just beyond his fingertips, until it hit the platform with a crash and split open.

Deker woke from his childhood memory into the searing light of day. He felt the hot desert wind blow and heard the rustling of leaves. The scent of flowers was sweet, but it couldn't mask something foul in the air.

He blinked his eyes open and tried to move but couldn't. His legs and arms seemed locked. Then he realized he was naked and wrapped around the golden bark of a seven-meter-tall acacia tree. His right leg was bent around the front of the tree and locked inside his bent left leg, which in turn was locked behind the trunk under the entire weight of his own body. They were using the "grapevine" method to secure him as a prisoner. Very old-school, but effective.

He was in some kind of grove of acacia trees, gnarly and black against the sky, their green and yellow leaves blowing like ash in the air.

Pain shot up his spine from the cramping in both his legs. How long have I been left like this?He dug his fingers into the tree trunk and tried to pull himself up. His skin scraped against the bark and he moved up only enough for his head to scratch the sharp thorns of the lower branches. He had an overwhelming desire to throw himself backward to relieve the unbearable pain. But somehow his body sensed that such an action would kill him.